Control
by FaeNocturne
Summary: A soon-to-be collection of one-shots about the X-Men: Evolution characters and how they find their control. There's not much to explain other than that, but this does contain angst and probably will in the future. Don't like angst, don't read.
1. Chapter 1: Fighting the Current

It seemed like a long time ago, especially for him, but…it wasn't, really. Not if you think about how long it had been since the Crusades or the Egyptian empire. But nobody was there to testify for that. Nobody was here to testify for this, either. Nobody except him. In some ways, it had been a long time--over a decade. That was long to him. Heck, even a minute seemed long to him. But sometimes time mashes together and it's hard to keep a bearing on what was a long time ago and what wasn't.

He probably wouldn't wish the memories on anyone else; they all had their own burdens to handle. Society dictated that one must handle one's problems alone and in silence. You can drip poison about another in somebody's ear. You can gossip, you can tell strange, random things that nobody else really cared about. But your true secrets were ones that you kept locked inside you. Only people involved with the story of those secrets knew.

But still, sometimes he envied everyone else who was involved in the secrets—none of them remembered. His mother—she was dead, had been for most of these events, and had influenced many. Who knows? If she hadn't died…

But you can't start down that path. You can't, or else you will feel like your head is going to explode, and you go and run or play guitar or watch TV until you're numb again.

His father—it was hard to tell. His father knew most of those events, but he was old, old in many ways, and these events weren't as sharp.

His sister—he didn't know where to start. She hadn't even been there for some of it. The silent dinners, the confusion and obedience and yearning to measure up. And what parts she had been there for, they had been there, but changed--by their dad, nonetheless--and now they were back again. He was just as confused by it as she was, honestly. But he couldn't let them see that. He couldn't let them see that he was hurting, that he wasn't as insensitive as they thought he was.

Sometimes, he wished that the scars he put on his body would stay. But they didn't. They never did. He was fast, so why wouldn't his whole body be fast? It made sense. Sometimes, he wished that someone would be able to see how hurt he was, how he tried to translate emotional pain to physical pain but could never even them out. Sometimes, he wished that someone would really look beyond the "I'm okay" to the thoughts, the feelings, the pain that kept him up at night.

But at the same time, he couldn't let it all go. He was used to it—any lighter burden would just feel… _wrong_, somehow. He knew some of it was bad for him—it was an addiction, it didn't help anything—but he needed it. It was _his_. His father had taken his will. His sister had taken his bravery. His friends used up his bravado, although unknowingly. His nightmares took his peace.

The X-men had taken his honor. They had painted him as the bad guy yet again. He was the 'evil' to their 'good'. They didn't get it at all. Sure, some of them had problems; Miss Perfect sometimes felt so much it made her ill, One-Eye had lost his parents, Fuzzball had been abandoned by his mom, Skunk-girl had been betrayed by almost everybody.

But to them, he was a monster. He was callous and uncaring. They didn't know that emotion was taken as weakness. They didn't get that 'pretty boys' had to put up a tough front to survive. They didn't realize that you couldn't really win in this world—not if you're different, anyway. The best you can do is to swim against the current until your mind or your body gives up.

But this addiction, these secrets, these feelings: they were his. He could actually control them. Everybody looks for control someplace.

Pietro Django Maximoff's control was in knowing the whole story. In knowing the whole story, and continuing to fight the current.

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A/N: Sorry, everybody!! I know that this is all over the place, but I was writing as it came to me, almost like a person's thoughts. And I know, I should be doing more with other stuff, and I REALLY shouldn't be starting new stuff, but this sort of came to me. I really don't know where it came from, but I would appreciate reviews, with or without criticism—I really don't care which. I wrote this late at night, and I am happy with it, for me. I really will put up another one-shot for another character on this.

And I will write another chapter for "Crystal and Brimstone". Anybody, if you have read/are reading/are going to read that story, PLEASE tell me any ideas you have for it, as I am experiencing major writer's block with that story at the moment. Thank you!!


	2. Chapter 2: Heroine

A/N: Wow. I'm really on a roll here. I've done three chapters/one-shots in two nights. This would be my fourth, and I wasn't even intending to, starting out. Anyway, onto chapter two of my new series, "Control".

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Nobody could ever control her. At least, nobody had ever hung around long enough to try too hard. Her mom…she had gotten cancer. It wasn't really her fault, but she wasn't the one left alone with Dad. He would hurt her, make her wonder why she was born. Then, at 14, some bullies caught up with her after school. She finally got tired of being the world's punching bag, and then—something happened. She couldn't explain it. But when that tiny exploding flame appeared in her hand, something sparked inside her as well.

She left that night, when her dad had already passed out, with only a backpack and a duffle bag to carry everything she owned. She managed to escape the first few times—her dad had forced her to help him steal more than once, so it wasn't too hard. But her good luck hadn't lasted, and she found herself in jail. She expected her dad to be notified. Instead, a bald guy and a tough-looking guy had come and taken her away. They wanted her to use her powers to help their cause—humans and mutants working together in harmony. She had seen too much violence to believe this was possible, but she got a comfy bed, three meals a day, and friends.

But, as she had learned time and time again, good luck could never last for too long. Her dad found her. Her mom had tried her best to protect her, but some days she had trouble even getting up from the bed. Her stays at the hospital were getting longer and longer.

He had promised to leave her mom alone after this. They had been divorced for a while, but that didn't mean that he couldn't show up and make life miserable for her mother. Her mom had it hard enough trying to get better. She hadn't seen her mom in a few months, but the last time she had seen her, her mom hadn't looked good.

So she went along with it, and got caught. No problem. She would miss her friends, but she couldn't stay there. She wasn't meant to be a good girl. She would never be a heroine—if she stayed, she would only mess up again and again. She didn't want to set both them and herself up for that.

So she moved in with the resident bad boys. Besides being the only girl, it was okay. But she couldn't control her wildness. She needed it—it was what made her feel alive. It was her addiction. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't tame it. It kept people from getting too close, kept them from hurting her. If they all gave up, then she would be all alone, with nobody to hurt her. Nobody to try and change her. Nobody to make her soft. If she was soft, then she would have to harden herself all over again.

So she stayed moving. The bad boys' boss couldn't handle her, so she moved again. An apartment, a boyfriend's place…wherever she could stay. She flirted in between both groups, never quite pledging her allegiance to either. She lived on the edge, flirting with danger just to feel that excitement, that rush of emotion. No matter where she lived, no matter how much she managed to control most of herself, she could never give that up. Not for a family, not for friends…

Then, they had called her. The people that had been the closest thing to a family she had ever experienced. They needed help saving the world from this crazy dude with some wacked-out face paint. They had to fight against their mentors, their teachers, their family. That was the hardest battle of their lives, especially hers. She had to decide what she wanted, if this fighting was her type of danger.

In the end, she took some time after the battle to decide. She was tired of being on the edge, because she always had to remind herself exactly how far she could fall. But this wildness…it was inside her blood, inside her veins. A part of her always rebelled against being told what to do.

She needed this wildness. It was her power, something that nobody had managed to take away from her.

Tabitha Smith's control was in her wildness. And that was something she could never give up. But perhaps…

Perhaps it is possible to keep wildness without always pushing everyone away.

Perhaps a wild girl can be a heroine.

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A/N: Okay, this was totally going to be angsty. But looking at it now…it's kind of…not. Like it? Hate it? It's hard for me to be objective, so I want to know what you think. Any stories you want me to write? Any ideas for "Crystal and Brimstone"? Any constructive criticism? Just send me a review—I want to know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3: Atlas

A/N: I'm warning you in advance, I don't feel in a 'fanfiction' mood right now, but I'm willing to give it a go. So, let me know what you think! And I'm probably going to fix up the first one—I understand that it was a little bit confusing.

And I know—I did say one a day. I just knew that if I forced myself to write one last night, it would be complete crap. Hopefully, this one will be only half-crap. So, enjoy!

* * *

It was strange, being connected to something that you could never completely control. A lot of times, it was scary. When he was younger, he had lived in a foster home in San Francisco. It had lasted less than a month—he might be good, but he was no match for Mother Nature. Natural earthquakes made him sick. He would spasm, run a fever, have migraines…his body didn't react well to the earth being controlled by someone or something besides him. It was usually no matter in battles—his opponents were usually weaker than he was.

That was one reason why he had liked upstate New York so much. Not only were there very few earthquakes, but things were going okay for once. As long as he was quiet and didn't disturb his foster parents, they left him alone. He had friends—they weren't the best of friends, but they were people he could hang out with nonetheless.

And then, of course, he had to become a cliché. The bad boy falling for the good girl. Funny, though. The good girl is usually the one that gets the bad boy in the real trouble. So he moved to another house. Found some more friends. Had one of those friends stab him in the back.

Couldn't blame Pietro, though. Heck, if he had a dad that actually hung around for once, he'd probably do the same thing. But it obviously didn't work. Pietro never got his dad's approval—he ended up back at the Brotherhood house, twice as jaded and three times as tempermental.

Pietro would never admit it, but everybody knew who the real leader of the group was. Pietro was leader in some senses—everybody expected his brave bluster, and he always made things interesting. But Pietro was fickle, eccentric—although it seemed like a long time to him, he changed moods fast for a regular human.

But Lance was the rock, the strong foundation. Without him, the Brotherhood would have crumbled long ago. The stress was almost unbearable at times. He realized, on nights when he lay awake and couldn't fall asleep, that the Brotherhood would follow his orders no matter what. One order could get one of them killed. And it would be all his fault.

He could kill a family member. That was how he looked at the Brotherhood: a family.

He himself took on the combined role of older brother and father. The strong one, the one who supported everybody else. Pietro was the reckless, frustrating, but sometimes endearing younger 

brother. Wanda was the angry, rebellious sister. Tabby was the sister who left, but always came back in the end. Fred was the confused brother. And Todd was their youngest member. The young, slightly more innocent one, albeit very unhygienic. As much as they tried to hide it, they protected Todd slightly more than they did anyone else. He wasn't completely broken. It wasn't too late for him.

Nonetheless, it all fell to him. He was the one who paid the bills. He had gotten a job fixing cars, once they were kicked out of school. He only sent Pietro to "acquire" things if they really couldn't afford them.

He knew that it would never work out. The bad guy and the good girl. It always did in the movies, but life was never that simple. Instead of the parents that didn't approve, it had to be a group of super-powered hormonal teens. There were times when he felt like Atlas: holding up the world without a moment's rest, constant pressure, constant weight. He wanted to shrug it all off, but at the same time, he knew that he couldn't. He might not be a hero, but he would never walk out on anyone.

Sometimes, he imagined what life would be like if he just gave up…stopped fighting. Maybe he would just die, his body giving up along with his mind. Maybe he would be dead inside, but keep on going. Maybe he would be an accountant, with a wife and two kids, and live in the suburbs, and let the Brotherhood be a distant memory.

But then he wondered how they would feel. Pietro was already reckless, bordering on the edge of self-destructive. Would Pietro start leaning further and further towards the latter? Wanda would be angry, but hurt deep beneath that. After all, it seemed like everybody left her. Toad wouldn't understand…or maybe he would. He might understand the longing to be normal, and become bitter, realizing that his unhygienic ways would make that impossible. Tabby might run away, hitchhiking or some other dangerous thing. Fred would be hurt; maybe he would go back to the circus.

After thinking about all of that, it felt selfish to give up. He knew that some of them had suffered more than he did—he couldn't hurt them more.

Of course, he had—he had gone over to the "Dark Side" for a while. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out. He loved Kitty, but he wasn't trusted, wasn't liked. It wouldn't have worked out, anyway. He had tried, for Kitty. Surprisingly, some of the best actions in his life had been done for Kitty. That girl was the best and worst part of his life.

When he had gotten back from his escapades with the X-men, the house had been a mess. It had always been a mess, but it had been total chaos. Pietro and Tabitha had thrown wild parties, Pietro had taken up his former habit of trying to see how many girls he could 'bed' in one night, Toad hadn't come out of his room, and Fred had sat watching TV for 36 hours straight.

Wanda—she had known. She had known that he would come back. Impossible to tell exactly how, but she knew.

It was hard to be him. He couldn't give up, couldn't let up—too many people were counting on him. He yearned for the good girl, played the role of a bad boy, and would do almost anything if it meant his 'family' would survive.

His crush was constantly smiling at him and scorning him. The only thing that was truly his was his music. His guitar. It helped him explain exactly how he felt, exactly what felt wrong. It helped him to keep from exploding.

Lance Alver's control was in his music. It helped him to keep going, to keep his friends from falling apart.

It helped him to keep being an unknown Atlas, silently holding up the universe.

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A/N: Well, it wasn't half crappy for a forced-muse thing. Although I must admit, the person I like writing most about is Pietro. In the cartoon, he didn't show very much development, much feeling, but I like him as a character. Besides my OC, Maya, I think that I may like him best. At least, to write about. I think that he may be tied with X-23. Anyway, sorry for the wait, and something that I have forgotten to do:

Disclaimer: I do not, and probably will not, ever own X-Men: Evolution. It belongs to Marvel and WB, as much as it pains me to say that. May evil fluffy plot-bunnies come over her and bit-slap me if I lie.


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